Can't Break Me
by Del Rion
Summary: Life didn't get easier or simpler after the battle of Manhattan. The world changed, and they kept fighting, struggling, and finding ways to get around to another day. Coping mechanisms include but are not limited to: broken mirrors, dancing, alcohol, kisses and friendship. Written for: bigbang mixup, round 2 (mix by hippydeath, art by viviantanner).


**Story Info**

**Title:** Can't Break Me

**Author:** Del Rion

**Fandom:** The Avengers (MCU)

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** T / FRT

**Characters:** Bruce Banner (Hulk), Steve Rogers (Captain America), Tony Stark (Iron Man), Thor.  
Smaller appearances: J.A.R.V.I.S., Pepper Potts, Tony's bots (DUM-E & U)

**Pairing:** Bruce/Tony, Pepper/Tony (past)

**Summary:** Life didn't get easier or simpler after the battle of Manhattan. The world changed, and they kept fighting, struggling, and finding ways to get around to another day. Coping mechanisms include but are not limited to: broken mirrors, dancing, alcohol, kisses and friendship.  
Complete.

**Written for:** bigbang_mixup, round 2  
**Mixer:** hippydeath (LJ) [mix link: 8tracks . c0m /anonblueberry/can-t-break-me]  
**Artist:** viviantanner (LJ) [art links: viviantanner . livejournal . c0m / 11962. html & viviantanner . deviantart . c0m /gallery]

**Warnings:** Language, canonical violence, near-death situations, mentions of PTSD and suicidal thoughts, some gruesome descriptions. A few vague allusions to/influences from Iron Man 3, but no real spoilers.

**Disclaimer:** Iron Man, Avengers and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Joss Whedon, Jon Favreau, Shane Black, Louis Leterrier, Kenneth Branagh, Joe Johnston, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures, Universal Pictures… In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction, created to entertain likeminded fans, for no profit whatsoever.

**Beta:** Mythra

**Feedback:** Very much appreciated in every shape and form.

* * *

**About ****_Can't Break Me_****:** This is the first time I've written anything based on a mix. I definitely didn't think it would be as difficult as it was, yet it was a refreshing challenge (writing from songs is so much harder than, say, writing something inspired by an image; a song can be "heard" in so many different ways, and as you dig into the lyrics, looking for inner meanings that might unlock a scene in a story, it's definitely a new experience if you haven't done it before). I wouldn't be averse to doing this again.

The story in general has a day-in-a-life feel to it.

It would also seem that some small references in this story borrowed themselves from _Iron Man 3_; no spoilers, don't worry, and I'm not sure if this story follows the events set by _The Avengers_, or those seen in _Iron Man 3_, so let's call this a happy middle in which IM3 may or may have not happened.

Fic title is borrowed/copied (with permission) from the title of the mix.

* * *

**The mix:**  
01: _When the World Was Young_ by John Cafferty  
02: _Devil in the Midnight Mass_ by Billy Talent  
03: _Burn (alleged remix)_ by Alkaline Trio  
04: _Red Flag_ by Billy Talent  
05: _Let It Rock_ by Kevin Rudolf feat. Lil Wayne  
06: _Ready to Run_ by Dixy Chicks  
07: _Tik Tok_ by Ke$ha  
08: _Steal My Romance_ by Ghosts On the Radio  
09: _Excess_ by Tricky  
10: _Stripping Cane_ by Jeffrey Foucault  
11: _O Death_ by Jen Titus  
12: _I'm Still Here_ by Johnny Rzeznik

* * *

**Story and status:** Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.

**Can't Break Me**

* * *

. . .

* * *

Written for **bigbang_mixup**'s round 2; inspired by a mix put together by **hippydeath** (LJ); including art by **viviantanner** (LJ).

* * *

**Can't Break Me**

* * *

From Steve's days to the 21st century, the world had changed as much as it had stayed the same. Similarities were harder to come by, but if given time, they would slowly surface.

Of course, even more prominent was the new era Steve had witnessed being born with his own eyes – and which his own blood and sweat had partially wrought into existence: the age of superheroes. After the Chitauri had attacked Manhattan and the Avengers had first joined forces to repel the invasion and save the world from falling under Loki's dominion, humanity was rolling around on training wheels once more, dealing with the fact that there were actual superheroes in existence. Of course Iron Man had been there prior to the Avengers, but Tony's armor was something a human mind could conceive of – at least Tony Stark's mind – instead of super-soldiers, Norse gods of thunder and a green beast of untold power and rage.

The world had struggled for a time, to come to terms with the poorly concealed fact that the Avengers were very real, and still popping up, together and separately, from time to time. The virtual world was filling with pages, news clips and videos from around the globe, putting together a world-wide puzzle of what was going on beneath the surface.

There were many who still regarded superheroes as a big government hoax, although the believers would easily poke holes into their outlandish claims of deception. There were also those who were rather indifferent – until they got thrown into the middle of a superhero showdown against the villain of the month. After any such occasion, voices of thanks would mix with cries of outrage, because some people were never happy to barely escape certain death with their lives, instead choosing to complain to anyone who cared to listen about how 'the Hulk crashed through our house!' or 'the lightning destroyed the grid and we've been without electricity for three days now' – not to mention blaming bruises and broken bones on 'manhandling and blind disregard for public safety' whenever the heroes fought to save innocent lives from the midst of destruction.

Most people sang the heroes' praises, but the complaints were the loudest and most persistent.

Steve knew, however, that they were fighting a good fight. That was why the Avengers kept coming together, regardless of their failures, mistakes and downfalls. They had made promises to each other and the world over the years, and risen above many challenges that would have knocked each of them down if they had stood alone.

United, they had a chance against those who would seek to destroy them.

As Steve took in the buzzing atmosphere of an afternoon in New York City, it was easy to see a world that had grown up – perhaps too quickly, like a precocious child, but in the shadow of the Avengers Tower that loomed over the city, what other choice did it have? At the same time, the people still went about their business as before, unfazed and unchanged. The tourists still milled around, gawking and snapping pictures.

Life went on.

In the distance, out over Central Park, lightning flashed, and the clouds began to gather in the sky, pressed together into a thick, swirling pillar. Steve threw the wrappers of his hot dog into a nearby trash can and slid onto his bike, starting the engine: an event like that heralded either trouble or the arrival of Thor. Like always, Steve hoped it was the latter.

* * *

The nightmare still roiled in his chest as Bruce woke up, the room dark around him. His inner clock informed him that it was the wrong time for sleeping, but he and Tony had been up for almost two days straight and rest had become essential for even the most basic functionality.

It didn't mean resting would be easy.

Exhaustion didn't keep the nightmares at bay indefinitely, because if that were the case, Bruce would have utilized that fact to full effectiveness earlier in his life.

His entire body was coated in a sheen of sweat, clinging to his clothes and skin, making him feel uncomfortable and disgusting. His mind knew the darkness around him was unnatural; he didn't know what time it was, exactly, but it was supposed to be light outside and he shouldn't be in bed, trying to sleep but instead gnawing his way through another private showing of a horror movie…

If only his dreams were surreal. He could have deal with that, shrug it off and rearrange his thoughts for another bout of rest. Well, his nightmares _were_ surreal, in many ways, but he also knew them to be flashes from the other guy's mind, and the feelings bubbling up through his skin, seeping into the sheets, burned like acid on his self-control.

"Lights," he groused.

The room slowly lit up, and Bruce remained lying on the bed, debating whether he should ask for the time, or see for himself. Around him, the room was quiet. The clock on the nightstand wasn't making a sound, the walls sound-proofed to block out the noises coming from the outside, which meant he was left with only the sounds of his own body, and the imagined shuffling of large green feet.

He eventually grew too anxious to remain tangled in the sheets, skin too cold now that the sweat was cooling him down. Bruce pushed himself up and made his way to the bathroom, each movement focused and in control of his body, not leaving openings for any surprises.

The lights in the bathroom lit up as he entered, and Bruce went to place his hand on the settings on the wall, to dim the lights to a minimum because he really didn't need to look at himself right now – then hesitated and met his own gaze in the large mirror above the sink. Bags beneath his eyes; a dark, scowling expression he couldn't really feel but didn't doubt, either; his hair a sweaty mess. He supposed he might as well shower, and envisioned the process of stripping his clothes, getting in the shower and allowing the hot water to pull out the last painful hooks of the dream from his mind.

It would have been pleasant, had it actually been that easy, but Bruce found himself still standing near the doorway, absently staring at the mirror and his own reflection in it. The shower was _right there_, but the water wouldn't wash away a single blood-smeared smudge on his mind. It was too late for that; no soap or holy water could purify the tainted parts of his being.

A devil lurked in his peripheral vision… a distorted image behind stained glass.

He shook his head. For years he had fought to overcome the darkness inside him, then to understand it. The hard part wasn't the other guy, but the fact that all that anger, evil and violence was buried so much deeper than the beast could reach. Bruce remembered a tortured boy, clamped down tight on himself in the face of things a child should not have to witness. In the end, that boy had to die. How convenient it would have been if all that darkness had just bled out with him, but instead of purification, Bruce felt poisoned to the core.

The boy had been replaced by something else – something the world often got glimpses of, but not when they expected it; the manifestation of all of Bruce's repressed rage wasn't the Hulk, even though the beast often wrung him dry. No: it was the silent, stewing, dangerous undertone that set some of his teammates on edge, and each time, Bruce expected them to draw a line, to cast him out.

To make Bruce the villain.

He met his eyes again. Not green, but dark brown, seething and angry, tired of clinging to threads and making emergency knots to build a web that would hopefully hold itself together long enough for… what? Absolution?

His eyes narrowed. Fingers curled into fists.

The memory of a dream flashed across his mind. _Broken bodies beneath his feet, covered in dust and rubble, like abandoned dummies with clothes and broken faces, blood smeared about them in the uncertain strokes of a flowering artist. There was blood on his hands._

Bruce growled and punched the mirror, hard. It fractured and three chunks fell down, two of them shattering into smaller pieces all over the sink and the table. He stared at the shards. There was blood on a few of them, and the hot stab of pain from his hand made him cast a look at the limb, finding long wounds across his knuckles and the bottom of his palm.

Blood on his hands…

He sighed and gingerly turned on the water, washing most of the blood down the drain but more kept welling up. Turning off the water, he stared at his hand, wondering if this was what the Hulk had nightmares about.

* * *

The ground was still trembling when Thor straightened and looked around. Here and there around him, people had stopped to stare – and as was customary on Midgard, many were already reaching for those small technical devices they called cellphones. None of them approached him directly, so Thor allowed the dust to settle in the wake of the Bifrost and looked around again: it was often that one of the Avengers, or someone from S.H.I.E.L.D., would arrive to greet him when he arrived in Midgard.

Sure enough, after a little while had passed and most of the people had carried on with their activities, leaving Thor in peace, a familiar motorcycle curved around a bend in the road, the sound of the engine partially absorbed by the surrounding trees.

Thor greeted his fellow Avenger and leader with a smile and a nod of his head while Steve Rogers brought the vehicle to a halt and proceeded to park it safely. He took his time, so unlike the world around him which always seemed to be in a hurry. Various people had attempted to explain this to Thor, speaking quickly, trying to make him comprehend that the world moved faster these days and if you didn't move with it, you would be left behind, coughing in the dust.

While Thor had never been one to fall behind on anything, in all his many years, he wondered how well he was doing in this modern age – as well as Steve. They both came from different worlds, and although they had adapted fairly well, they would often seek a quiet place to reminisce of times and places much different than today's Midgard.

Truly, just a handful of decades had brought with them a great change, and for Thor that was astonishing. In his world, things did not change that fast. Not so… drastically, anyway. That was why he always felt so tense when leaving Midgard behind, to return home to his duties on Asgard – wondering how much things would have changed in his absence before he returned to the Middle Realm once more.

Just like Steve feared that if he went to sleep, he might not awaken again for another lifetime…

"Hi," Steve greeted him finally, walking over. "Is there trouble?" he asked next, because too often their meetings were foreshadowed by a need to assemble. Much as Thor enjoyed a good battle, he knew how much was at stake each time; he was older, not so foolish anymore, feeling the responsibilities of the protection of all Nine Realms, but especially Midgard.

His friends in Asgard often asked him why Midgard was special. Thor wished he knew how to explain it, to his father more than most. In the beginning, he had thought the humans a weaker race, but he had also witnessed the greatness in them; a tenacity. However, they also had the power to destroy themselves and those around them, and like unruly, stubborn children, they refused to listen to reason.

Much as Thor wanted to shelter them, some lessons needed to be learned through trial by fire.

"Nay," Thor replied to Steve. "At least, there is no trouble in Asgard."

Steve nodded firmly. "Nothing here, either. So… good news all around," he decided.

Thor could tell a part of Steve was a little disappointed. They both shared a desire to do something, to be useful. Waiting made them restless, like the sky ripe for a storm, gathering pressure before unleashing its power.

During his life and travels, Thor had seen many a place and many a storm. On Midgard, nature was often violent, humans not standing a chance against its unpredictable might. For Thor, it was a bitter lesson, for Midgard's might was of little consequence to him, yet it was not he who struggled against a tidal wave or escaped from the fire lit by a flash of lightning.

"You hungry?" Steve casually asked.

Seeing as both of them had healthy appetites, Thor grinned. "Certainly."

The other nodded. "Maybe we should get you changed first."

"Your place or the Tower?" Thor asked in return; he knew how much his Asgardian clothing attracted attention, and sometimes, it was better to fit in – especially if they wanted to focus on eating.

"Mine," Steve shrugged and turned back towards his motorcycle. "I'm not sure if there's anyone at the Tower at this time." They all had the right to use the Avengers Tower as they saw fit, but Thor had noticed Steve's reluctance to go there whenever Tony Stark was not present. The name 'Stark' was no longer decorating the exterior of the building, instead replaced by a single 'A' that stood for 'Avengers', yet it had first and foremost been Tony's building – still was – so perhaps Steve did not feel invited whenever Tony was not there to host them.

Thor gripped Mjolnir in his hand and looked up to the sky as Steve started the engine of his motorcycle. They would meet at Steve's small, simple home, choose a change of clothes for Thor and then go out and feast like good friends. In the midst of all the chaos, desperation, stubbornness and hectic life that made up Midgard, Thor liked nothing better than sitting down with Steve Rogers in some restaurant, and be free of the concerns of the Nine Realms for a moment.

* * *

Tony was on a roll, or at least he liked to think he was: he had been awake for a little over two days now and felt wide awake. He wasn't drunk but pleasantly buzzed, the new upgrades to the armor weren't giving him any trouble, and the bots hadn't managed to spill or break anything recently. Dummy had done a little corner-time earlier, after running over Tony's foot and making him cut a wire in the most inappropriate place possible, but Tony was in a forgiving mood so the robot was now arranging his tools at one of the work stations.

His latest project neatly wrapped up, Tony sat back to consider what to do next. He glanced at the time and wondered if Bruce would be up soon: the two of them were alone in the house, if you didn't count two bots, multiple armors and one AI. Tony supposed he shouldn't count the armors as 'inhabitants', but he was the one doing the counting so it didn't matter whether he did or didn't.

He took another sip of his drink and listened as the music track changed in the background. Now that he wasn't absorbed in fine-tuning the armor's interior to better follow the commands from his body, he stopped to listen and nodded along, fishing an ice cube from his glass and passing it from side to side in his mouth with his tongue. Billy Talent had a valid point: the future didn't really need today when it had to swim around in the sins of the past. Luckily, Tony was a master of redeeming questionable, sin-infested pasts and making way for a better, brighter tomorrow.

Finishing his drink, he got up and went to refill the glass. He may have been forced to take a few abrupt side-steps to not run into You and maintain his balance, but he _wasn't drunk_, and he didn't need a crutch…

As he poured himself more of the amber liquid, he looked up and along the far wall of his workshop. Who was he kidding? He was the biggest employer of the most high-tech crutches in the world. Most people didn't even realize what the suits were to Tony, on most days, after the events in New York. Sure, that battle was years into the past and the Avengers had battled worse things than space aliens since 2012, but some things stuck harder than the others. Tony had gotten rid of the nightmares and panic attacks, the paralyzing fear and nagging doubt, but there were still times when he needed to only open his eyes and see that he was still using the suits as a crutch – not for the pain, perhaps, but to keep him going.

Tony rolled his eyes at himself, downing most of his drink in one go.

_"Sir,"_ J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up, lowering the volume of the music. _"Dr. Banner is awake."_

"Yeah?" Tony asked, glass half-way back to his mouth. His AI didn't announce such things unless he was asked to, which led Tony to expect something else was coming.

_"It would seem he may require some medical assistance."_

Tony frowned and put the glass down before drinking the rest of what was left in it. "Medical assistance, as in…?"

_"Dr. Banner broke a mirror in his bathroom and continues to bleed. There seems to be no immediate danger."_

"Did he ask for help?"

_"No, sir."_

There may have been a puzzle in there somewhere, but Tony knew the answer would be too simple for him to bother with unfolding the riddle. So, he just turned and walked up from the workshop, turning a corner and heading out to the rooms that had become Bruce's whenever he stayed in Malibu with Tony. "Doc," Tony called out as he rapped his knuckles against the door, then opened it and stepped inside. He gave the room a quick once-over: twisted sheets, but nothing alarming; light coming from the bathroom, but no running water or sounds of distress.

"You're up," Bruce commented, not even bothering to make a statement about Tony entering before being invited inside.

"I was working," he shrugged, then finally caught a glimpse of the other man, Bruce's right hand partially covered by a towel he had wrapped around it. Tony could spot bright red splotches of blood on the white cotton. "Need a hand with that?" he asked, pointing.

Bruce looked down, as if he were surprised by the injury. "I would prefer if you didn't help."

"But if I insist?" Tony pressed.

The look on Bruce's features was exasperated, but also worn out and defeated. "Your house."

"My rules," Tony finished, gave him a quick smile and then turned on his heels and motioned for Bruce to follow in case he didn't get the drift. Tony led them down to the workshop, Bruce still wearing the clothes he had worn to bed and clutching the towel around his hand. Tony could sense the question forming on the other man's lips, not quite making it into words, and he motioned for Bruce to sit down instead; he really shouldn't have to explain to Bruce why his workshop had the most well-stocked medicine cabinet in the house. "J, lights," he ordered and dug into said medicine cabinet. "You, come here and give me a hand," he ordered one of the bots. "Dummy, fetch the waste basket."

He pulled things out of the cabinet and then carried them over to one of the more sterile tables, beside which Bruce was sitting, looking pale and haggard in the bright lights J.A.R.V.I.S. had turned towards them. Tony unloaded the medical equipment on the table and slid over a chair of his own, shifting closer. "Show," he demanded, gesturing with his hand, then moved to tug off the bloodied towel.

Bruce jerked back, his wounded hand pressed tight against his chest, as if he were protecting it from Tony.

"Stop being a baby," Tony gave him a look.

"Stop being an idiot," Bruce said back. "Do you have gloves?"

Tony snapped his fingers and You dutifully brought him a fresh pair of heavy-duty surgical gloves. "Satisfied, worrywart?"

Bruce slowly extended his arm and allowed Tony to tug away the towel and throw it into a trash can Dummy had brought over. He spread out a protective sheath on the table and placed Bruce's hand on top of it, tilting his head, waiting for instructions, because one of them might actually qualify as a doctor in some third-world country, and the other had once used hot glue to close a gash on his thigh. Neither of them needed to be a genius to figure out which was which.

"You know my blood is dangerous, right?" Bruce murmured after a bit.

"Yes," Tony told him, guessing the situation would benefit from him actually showing that he knew. "Guide me through this, will you?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "Clean it up. I don't think it needs stitches…"

"I can make stitches," Tony informed him. "They might not be pretty, but they get the job done." Bruce gave him a look, as if wondering whether Tony were joking, or revealing another past trauma of some kind. Tony shrugged, working to clean away the excess blood and see what exactly they were dealing with. "So, care to tell me why I have to replace your bathroom mirror?"

Bruce didn't tell him, so Tony looked at the other man's face. Sometimes, it was as if they had just met, with Bruce trying to keep him at arm's length and pretending that no one could possibly understand what went on in his head.

"I… didn't like the guy that was looking back at me," Bruce finally admitted.

"Do you ever?"

A smile – small, clearly displeased, but a smile nonetheless – appeared as a reaction to his words. "I've had better days." Bruce looked down at their hands. "I think the palm might need stitches."

Tony cleaned the area, put some butterfly-bandages to keep the nasty palm wound shut while he dealt with the knuckle wounds, then returned to the palm and pulled out stitching supplies.

"So, you've done this before?" Bruce returned to Tony's earlier comment.

"To myself, only," Tony told him. "I don't like hospitals – or the staff. Nothing personal. Just… not since Afghanistan. If I can handle it on my own, then I do just that."

"I always thought you had private doctors at your beck-and-call."

"They're still strangers, no matter how much of their payroll comes from my pocket," Tony pursed his lips, looking at the wound. "Do you want a drink?"

"For the pain?" Bruce actually chuckled. "I think I'll be fine. It's the… least I can do, for breaking your mirror. Sorry."

"You really should talk to someone about your anger-management issues," Tony suggested as he sank the needle into Bruce's flesh for the first time. The other man grimaced, slightly, eyes following the proceedings. He didn't tell Tony he was doing it all wrong, which was probably good. Then again, the first time Tony did stitch himself up, he'd had J.A.R.V.I.S. pull some legitimate training videos, so he guessed his technique was the only thing that needed sharpening.

"I don't like head-doctors," Bruce noted. "They agitate me and that defeats the purpose of talking to them, at least for me."

"Well, I'm all ears," Tony suggested airily, leaning a bit closer to the hand he was working on.

"I think with your history, dealing with my problems will only make things worse for you."

"I'm having a good spell."

"Yeah, haven't seen you breathing into a bag for a while."

Tony jabbed the needle a bit deeper into Bruce's skin than he should have, and their eyes met over the injured hand. "Smooth, Banner."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Seeing as I'm trying to sew shut a wound on your hand, you'd do well to keep me happy – or, at the very least to not cause an attack."

Bruce looked appropriately contrite and Tony went back to fixing him up.

Years may have rolled by since their first battle in New York City, and there may have been dozens of other disasters between then and now, but it didn't mean Tony didn't feel a shortness of breath every now and then.

It just made him try to outrun it faster, and that normally worked just fine.

* * *

His hand still ached, but Tony had done a passable job with the bandages and stitches, seeing as Bruce couldn't really have patched himself up with just one hand.

They had dressed back up, leaving the workshop in favor of the kitchen and living room, and although neither of them was fully invested in making breakfast, they raided the fridge and found several things to eat that didn't require extended preparation. Once sustenance was acquired, they settled down in the living room, on the couches, food piled up on the table, and ate in something that had to be companionable silence interrupted only by occasional musings of a scientific nature.

The beauty of floating around in Tony Stark's orbit was the vast expanse of things one got to experience, whether it was limits-defying tests, scientific pursuits, a new theory that required discouragement before things went boom – or simpler things, such as Tony recalling something from his youth, followed by a joyous order to J.A.R.V.I.S., which would eventually lead to a song coming from the speakers hidden around the room, Tony singing along and dancing to it, forcing Bruce to smile despite himself.

Tony put up a front between himself and the rest of the world. Over the years, Bruce had more than once found himself locked within it rather than shut outside, and despite their jibes at each other and a shorthand communication, Tony trusted Bruce to see the raw side of himself, full of claw-marks – most of which had probably been left there by Tony himself.

It was obvious, as the sun rose and hours went by without either of them wanting to do anything more constructive than hanging out in the living room, that Tony lit up Bruce's world in the most amazing ways – and Bruce let him, perhaps against his better judgment.

What was the worst that could happen?

Well, this was the man who designed many of the Hulkbusters' most effective gear, which were then used in attempts to capture the Hulk – and that tech still surfaced, occasionally, when General Ross felt like the Hulk had stomped on too many toes in between saving the world. There was no doubt that if there were such a man who was capable of finding a way to cause Bruce bodily harm, it was Tony – but he also welcomed that knowledge, because they had seen that not even Thor could match the other guy on a bad day, and Bruce needed someone in his corner with the ability to neutralize him.

Tony would be that man, one day. He had no doubts about that.

"Thinking of something nice?" Tony asked from across the room where he was standing by the glass-wall, minutely gyrating to the song coming from the speakers and hand hovering over a touch-screen that had appeared on the transparent surface. His eyes were alive, even with dark bags beneath them signaling that he was in need of rest.

"It's not… something you would enjoy," Bruce mused.

"But you just might?" Tony guessed, recalling his line, quick as a whip, after all these years, and raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at Bruce.

Bruce replied with an indulgent smile but didn't elaborate. At the back of his mind, the beast shifted, but never dangerously close to the surface. It was there, though, waiting, and Bruce wondered if it would, in time, be something he got used to; as much as he tried, he couldn't just accept the manifestation of all his buried rage and inadequacy. No matter how much good they could do, together and separately, the past would remain firmly on his mind, covered in blood and destruction.

That was a thread that tied Tony and himself together: Tony also had much to atone for, even though his crimes had often been less harmful. Drunken misbehavior, recklessness, countless broken hearts and promises – and a body count that never led back to Tony, personally, but which he still took to bed with him every night, counting bodies like sheep as he waited for sleep.

Not so different from Bruce…

Tony pulled back from the windows, the screen disappearing from the glass. He danced across the living room, weaving past furniture, caught up in the current song, movements so sensual that it didn't seem as awkward as it would have doubtlessly been if he'd made Bruce try and copy him. Which he often tried to achieve, anyway – just like now: 'Come on,' Tony mouthed at him, reaching out for Bruce, fingers waggling in an invitation.

Bruce shook his head, giving him another good-natured smile.

"Come on," Tony said out loud, taking a step towards him. Bruce couldn't recoil from him without leaving the couch he was sitting on, and when Tony's hand tugged on his, it was like a new gravity had been born, pulling him closer to the brilliant sun that was Tony Stark.

Against his better judgment, Bruce got to his feet, and Tony's smile could have blinded a person – or made a blind man see.

_'Make you come alive'_, the male singer sang to a steady beat of music.

Tony's body was close to his, but for once, he wasn't flirting. Bruce knew the difference by now; this was something else. It was also addictive, and Bruce tried to match his movements with Tony's – small sways of his hips, shifting shoulders – and accepted Tony's arms sliding over his shoulders, not holding, not drawing him into an embrace, but welcoming Bruce's arms to settle around the other man's body, at his waist.

Their foreheads touched and Tony's grin was turning infectious. It was stupid, whatever they were doing, but no one else was there and… the music drew to a close, their bodies pausing, still close, hanging onto the last threads of the moment:

_'I wish I could be,_  
_As cruel as you,_  
_And I wish I could say,_  
_The things you do,_  
_But I can't and I won't live a lie,_  
_No, not this time.'_

Tony closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath of air that caressed Bruce's cheek. "Alright," the genius engineer declared, "time for us to get truly, utterly and spectacularly hammered, Dr. Banner."

"Alright," Bruce replied – once again against his better judgment, but that was how most things with Tony went, and so far… no one had died.

* * *

Pepper pulled up at the house, looking around. Everything was quiet, and the entire area looked… un-demolished.

Ever since Tony became Iron Man, any party he attended had the potential to turn into a destruction zone or worse. To be fair, things had been calmer for years, but there had been phases, depending on certain other factors in Tony's life. Pepper kept an eye out from an old habit that hadn't been removed before she and Tony got together, when they were together, or after they split up as a couple.

Once upon a time Tony had agreed that J.A.R.V.I.S. would let her know if things got 'crazy' at the house – crazy by Pepper's standards, because Tony's standards for crazy went above and beyond visiting Norse gods, explosions and death-matches between two armored suits. She had half-expected Tony to draw some kind of line between Pepper and his personal life after they were no longer an item, but J.A.R.V.I.S. had continued to remain faithful to Pepper, in a sense, which was a relief; Pepper was still Tony's boss, and his friend, which meant she needed to know when Tony was potentially on the verge of another downward spiral – or having too much of a good time.

She leaned back against her seat, steeling herself against whatever she might find inside the house. From naked underwear models to destroyed furnishings, she had seen it all. It never got any easier, and with Tony, you never knew what to expect.

A Dixie Chicks song was playing on her car stereo and Pepper briefly reflected how well it matched her life – or one particular time in her life. She hadn't actually thought of the correlation before, but then, she tried not to actively think of the reasons why she and Tony were no longer together.

It wasn't as if anyone had expected their relationship to implode for the reasons it had, although it was better than most other options – which included a horrible, painful death, or one of them cheating on the other.

No: it was much simpler and less complicated than some outside influence – of which there had been many, thanks to Tony's super-heroing around the globe. There had been times when Pepper had been ready to walk out the door for any one of those other reasons – valid, reasonable reasons – but the one that finally sealed the deal was that she simply wasn't ready.

For years, Pepper had thought she had been, but when it began to feel like Tony was gearing towards the big commitment, which may have included him on one knee in some ridiculously cheesy and romantic setting, she sensed it wasn't, surprisingly, what she wanted from her life. Not at this point. Not with him.

It hadn't made sense to Pepper for the longest time. She had tried to analyze it, to take it apart. Did the fault lie with her, or with Tony – their past, or their present? But when she finally got past the blame, self-loathing and guilt, the relief was unmistakable. She could have spent all her life doing what she thought she should do and wondering if she had made the right choice, but she chose to sit Tony down for that one, meaningful talk, and as painful as it had been for them both, for a long time, they had chosen to ease out of it instead of wrenching each other apart, roots and all.

For almost a year, it had felt they were still together, but things weren't strained or uncomfortable. The two of them had actually enjoyed each other's company, without trying too hard, just… hanging out. They'd had fun, and sometimes they still had sex, but it was casual and Pepper wanted to believe Tony wasn't hiding some resentment from her – or harboring a one-sided longing. She wanted to maintain familiarity between them and not lose the closeness, but she would if Tony couldn't handle their arrangement.

So far, it had worked well, and Pepper wanted to believe she knew Tony well enough to be able to tell if he wasn't being honest.

With one, final breath, she turned the key in the ignition and cut off the power, then slid out of the car and walked to the front door. J.A.R.V.I.S. opened it for her, and once inside, she looked around to assess the damage. There were bottles stacked at the bar, but no naked limbs or broken movables. "J.A.R.V.I.S.," she called out, "how many guests did Tony have last night?"

_"One, Ms. Potts,"_ the AI replied promptly.

"Is that guest still around?"

_"Yes: Dr. Banner is currently asleep in the workshop, with Mr. Stark."_

"Bruce?" she looked around again, at the bottles and empty bowls of… whatever had been there. "Nothing looks… Did the Hulk…?" Pepper wasn't certain how to finish that question. She knew they had a term for it, but she always felt clumsy using it.

_"There was no hulk-out related incident. Just some… heavy drinking and partying."_

She wondered why J.A.R.V.I.S. had notified her, because Bruce Banner wasn't usually someone you could lure into mischief and reckless behavior. Then again, if Tony had managed to make the scientist let loose, the repercussions might be far worse than anything else she had ever witnessed after a night – or weekend – of partying.

Pepper was, once again, glad that this wasn't her life and responsibility around the clock anymore. She took the stairs down to the workshop, keyed in her code to let herself in, and found the lights on low. The workshop appeared to be in order, save for some bottles, snack wrappers and several in-progress projects.

On the couch against the far wall, Pepper could make out Bruce's unruly curls, then saw movements and saw one of the bots, probably Dummy, gently maneuvering a blanket that was threatening to slide to the floor from where Tony was curled up on one of the work benches, just as fast asleep as Bruce. Dummy continued to struggle, and Pepper had to smile at the strangely domestic vision.

That was when Dummy pulled a little too hard, managing to drag up the blanket but also smacking Tony in the face with his mechanical hand, which made the man wake up with a small shout and a jolt that almost sent him rolling off the bench entirely, one hand reaching out to steady himself on Dummy's arm.

Bruce jerked up on the couch, looking around in startled alarm, but he didn't start to turn green or expand, whichever usually came first.

Pepper cleared her throat softly. "Morning, gentlemen," she called out.

Tony's head whipped around so fast it had to hurt, and a somewhat painful smile appeared on his face. "Oh, hey, Pepper! Fancy seeing you here… isn't it?" he asked, and looked at Bruce.

The scientist just shrugged a bit and scratched his head.

J.A.R.V.I.S. turned the lights slightly brighter and turned the wide windows from opaque to translucent, letting in the morning sunshine. Both men groaned and covered their eyes, which in Tony's case meant shifting the blanket, which slid off him and onto the floor. Dummy looked at his creator, then at the blanket and let out a frustrated sound.

Pepper understood, wondering why on earth Tony would choose to sleep on the workbench to begin with – naked.

"Wild night?" she ventured to ask.

"Very," Bruce admitted, still shielding his eyes. Whether it was from the sun or Tony's naked front, she wasn't sure, but for a man who spent most of his post-missions naked in the midst of destruction, she made an educated guess it might be the former.

"Hardly," Tony argued, sitting up, feet dangling off the bench. "Maybe a few drinks too many, but not wild by any definition."

"I don't recall you getting naked," Bruce commented, slowly uncovering his eyes and getting an eyeful of Tony.

"It was hot!" Tony claimed, "and J.A.R.V.I.S. refused to crank up the AC."

_"I simply suggested you turn off the blowtorch first, sir."_

Tony let out a dismissive sound, then leaned forward and cradled his head.

_"I also have a message to deliver from Captain Rogers, now that you are awake, sir,"_ the AI went on. _"Thor arrived in New York City yesterday. The Captain thought you would like to know."_

"Is there trouble brewing?" Tony asked.

_"He did not mention any such thing, and there is nothing in the news. Captain Rogers stated they were going to 'hang out'."_

"Good for them," Tony groused and slid onto his feet, padding over to the workshop's bathroom and closing the door firmly.

"Well," Pepper mused uncertainly, meeting Bruce's eyes, "I'll go upstairs and maybe start on some breakfast unless you cleaned out the entire kitchen during your drunk science escapade."

"There wasn't that much science involved. I think," Bruce replied. "I think I recall J.A.R.V.I.S. shutting down certain equipment and Tony trying to hack him to let us use them anyway."

Pepper gave him a wry smile. "Another day in the life of Tony Stark."

They both could hear a faint groan from the bathroom and the muffled sound of Tony beating his head against the wall, probably to alleviate the headache he was suffering from while he browsed the medicine cabinet for something to ease the way into a new day.

Pepper pointed at the stairs and exited, not feeling at all guilty to leave the two men to deal with their hangovers.

It was twenty minutes later when the two of them finally emerged from the workshop. Tony was clothed this time, looking much more chipper. Bruce still looked like someone was kicking his skull from the inside, but he gave Pepper a smile as she offered him some freshly squeezed juice and light toast.

Tony grabbed himself some coffee and gave Pepper's cheek a kiss as he passed her. "We're flying out to the Big Apple today if you have nothing else," he said, looking at her. At the same time, he reached out to steal one of the pieces of toast Pepper had made for Bruce. After all, tending to a man who could turn into a giant rage monster was more important than nursing Tony.

"I can think of nothing important," Pepper replied. "But I'll let you know if something comes up."

Tony nodded, obviously in an agreeable mood. Clearly whatever he and Bruce had done last night had been for the greater good.

Pepper's phone rang at that moment, and she moved to fish it from her purse. Seeing that it was work-related, she shouldered the purse and prepared to leave, knowing she had things to do at the office now that she had made sure the situation at Tony's house wasn't something that required her attention.

Tony straightened a little, meeting her eyes before she could move away, and pursed his lips just a little. Pepper smiled, recognizing the signal, and leaned forward to give Tony a light kiss before answering her phone and leaving the two men to sort themselves out before the cross-country flight.

* * *

Bruce was still experiencing a rather spectacular hangover when they sat down in Tony's private jet and took off towards New York City. He knew that on a normal day, Tony would have just put on the armor and flown on his own, but since Bruce didn't have a suit, this was what they had opted for.

Tony kept offering him remedies to ease his condition, many of them highly questionable, but those distractions provided Bruce marginal relief from the pounding in his head and the unease in his stomach.

The flight went smoothly and soon enough they were speeding towards Midtown Manhattan – taking a detour to grab some cheeseburgers, which Tony insisted were necessary. Bruce admitted they were pretty good, although he almost suffocated on his second one because Tony's driving style required two hands on the wheel, and he only used one while eating his own burgers, almost crashing the car.

"I wasn't even close to totaling the car!" Tony claimed when they got safely to the parking garage of the Avengers Tower and Bruce was still shaking with adrenaline.

"Just our lives," Bruce muttered.

"You're being a worrywart, again," Tony pointed at him, then flashed him a grin in the next instant and pushed his sunglasses into his hair as they waited for the elevator to arrive. "You should get your blood pumping more often."

"When it pumps too much, things tend to go… boom," Bruce stated lamely.

"Was that before or after the Hulk?" Tony enquired, seriously, although his eyes were dancing.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"You're a tease," Tony complained as they stepped into the elevator. "I'm thinking more drinks once we get upstairs," he went on after they had moved up a few floors.

"Seriously?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I think we've had enough to last a… well, a while."

"No, you see, this is just the beginning," the other man rolled towards him, leaning his side against the elevator wall. "We're just getting started, immersing ourselves. It will get easier."

"I thought Steve informed us that Thor's in town," Bruce hedged. He didn't think his liver could take more alcohol anytime soon – well, his emotional liver, because the other guy probably made his liver just as indestructible as the rest of him.

"They can join us," Tony dismissed the point. "You and me, though – we need to get your merriment scale raised before you go back to destroying my property."

Bruce knew, intellectually, that Tony didn't really care about the broken mirror. In the past, he hadn't been all that worried about the Hulk breaking things, either. All of this had more to do with Bruce's internal issues, and Tony's attempt to draw him out of the dark musings that periodically claimed more space than usual in Bruce's mind.

Maybe a distraction was what he needed.

"How about you drink, and I just… hang?" Bruce suggested. "Or, I can drink a little of something," he amended, because being the only sober person in the room was often less than worth the effort.

Tony just gave him a mischievous look, as if he weren't buying it for a minute, and then he guided them into the penthouse's living room, ordering J.A.R.V.I.S. around to provide lights and music. Bruce sagged down on the couch and took off his jacket, then wordlessly accepted the drink Tony thrust towards him a minute later, placing it on the table and leaning back, closing his eyes.

The steady thrum of music, the room darkened from the late afternoon sun, and smoothly rotating lights that weren't too bright eventually lulled his headache a comfortable distance away from the surface of his mind, even when Tony turned up the volume slightly.

Air left Bruce's lungs rather violently and his thigh muscles tensed when a weight suddenly settled across them, and he blinked up to find Tony straddling him, his jacket gone, shirt open at the neck. A light flush was on his cheeks, either from the drink in his hand, or maybe he had just been dancing by himself again.

"You're not having fun," Tony observed, looking comfortable in a position that was seriously breaching Bruce's personal space.

"So you're going to give me a lap dance?" Bruce shot back, unsure where to put his hands. Why had he moved them from his sides? If he had just stayed still, maybe Tony would've lost interest like a dog would in a toy.

Tony's smile was bright and he took a long, deliberate sip of his drink. Something strong and ridiculously expensive, no doubt. Bruce watched, because if he didn't, who knew what Tony would come up with next. Ignoring him didn't always mean he would be ignored back, as Bruce had learned several times.

As his eyes remained fixed on Tony's face, relentlessly, to not lose whatever game they were playing, Bruce noted that Tony hadn't swallowed. He saw his cheek muscles twitch, maybe from the burn of the alcohol, and then Tony leaned forward, face aligned with Bruce's. If he didn't want to end up wearing a mouthful of Tony's expensive drink, he had to act fast so Bruce kept his face still and opened his mouth a fraction just before Tony did.

The rush of warm liquid burned and made him want to cough and pull to the side. A little bit dribbled across his lip and down his chin, and Tony's tongue chased it, intercepting the liquid. A hint of teeth pressed against Bruce's lower lip, informing him of a smile he couldn't currently see.

He knew Tony was about to speak – there was no way he wasn't going to gloat or tease – so Bruce simply lifted his face a bit higher, catching Tony's lips with his and lifted one hand to Tony's chin, anchoring it in place with a hold that would have been easy to break, but Tony wouldn't do that unless he was unprepared for this, and Bruce knew Tony prepared for a lot of outcomes in whatever he did.

One outcome included a dragging kiss traded between them, tasting too sharply of alcohol and not enough like a person.

Tony was the one to break it, leaning back, and Bruce's hand followed, as if magically attached to his face. His thumb shifted, across soft skin and carefully trimmed facial hair, ending up on Tony's lower lip and across it, pressing slightly against the seam of his lips.

The song changed.

Bruce let his hand fall, and Tony leaned further back, still smiling but not grinning, and got off his lap, emptying his glass as he moved across the room to the bar, already pouring himself another when Bruce reached out for his own glass, needing to move in order to banish the empty feeling in his lap.

Tony returned, clinked glasses with him and settled down on the couch, flush against Bruce's side but it still felt less intimate compared to earlier. Bruce threw an arm around the back of the couch, shifting, then brought his hand down a little, behind Tony's shoulders. His innocent gesture was rewarded by another smile and Tony leaned a bit closer. "I didn't plan that, just so you know," the other man admitted eventually, breaths warm on Bruce's neck.

Bruce wasn't certain whether he believed it – or wanted things to end with that statement. He didn't bother to lament how lonely his life was, how he couldn't let anyone get close, and how a single kiss with the potentially wrong person might further complicate things.

But Tony wasn't the 'wrong' person; he might not be ideal, but there was a reason why Bruce had decided to get drunk with him last night, and why they had sort of awkwardly danced, and why he hadn't hulked-out when Tony ended up astride his lap without a warning.

It was the same reason why he was probably going to end up hammered again tonight, with some club music blaring from the speakers and knowing full well that this wasn't even really a party in Tony's book.

"Maybe I did," Bruce replied at length.

Tony laughed and sipped his drink, resting the cool glass against Bruce's thigh afterwards. "Going to get me drunk off my ass and take advantage?"

"I need to get you drunk for that?"

"If you're going to take advantage, then yeah. Or tie me up." A dark eyebrow waggled suggestively.

"I'm not that kind of doctor," Bruce replied – not that he knew what kind of doctor did those kinds of things.

But, as long as Tony kept smiling, giggling, snorting with laughter, and smooching Bruce's cheek in passing when he went to fetch them another round of drinks, things were good, and there were no nightmares about the blood on his hands.

_'The party don't stop,'_ sang Ke$ha, and Tony took to those words like a religious exaltation, once again creating a gravitational pull that Bruce was helpless to avoid or escape.

* * *

They weren't nearly as shitfaced as last night in Malibu. Tony supposed they maybe should have learned a lesson, which was to drink more liquids – of the non-alcohol variety, like water. He decided to leave that until later, but before 'later' reached their current whereabouts, Steve and Thor arrived.

Tony was fairly certain J.A.R.V.I.S. had mentioned the two Avengers were in the building, but between that and their actual arrival to the penthouse, it felt like forever, and Tony had forgotten they were coming.

"Hey!" Tony greeted them from the floor where he was currently seated, feet bare, inching the toes of his right foot up Bruce's pant leg. "Pull up a chair," he ordered. "Drinks are on the house."

Steve gave the room a judgmental look, while Thor looked ready to join their party. "Is Bruce drunk?" Steve finally asked.

"Just tipsy," Bruce replied, lifting a beer bottle in the air – and promptly dropped it, spilling some on the couch before lifting the bottle upright again. "Shit… sorry, I'll…"

"Don't worry about it," Tony waved it off.

Steve was still looking at them with disapproval and Tony made an effort to push himself up, by rolling backwards over his shoulder, which he could do just fine on a good day, with a little momentum, but he hadn't been sober for hours and ended up in a tangled heap on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked, in a rather drunkenly amused inquiry, and Tony gasped and rolled onto his back, managing to straighten his legs before they started to cramp.

"Nothing," he responded and looked over at the two blonds in the doorway. "Seriously, lighten up. This is a party! Don't be party poopers. I'm sure you got that reference."

Steve rolled his eyes. Tony was pretty sure the super-soldier had copied that from him, and he felt strangely proud. "Could we have a word, please?" Steve asked a moment later, looking pointedly at Tony. "In private."

Tony picked himself off the floor, a bit unsteadily, but he had years' worth of experience with this and eventually led Steve to his office, closing the door behind them. Thor had been moving towards the kitchen when they left the room and would no doubt join Bruce on the couch.

Steve, on the other hand, looked prepared to ruin the night for everyone.

"Why on Earth would you think it's a great idea to get Bruce Banner drunk?" Steve demanded after what had to be his version of a steadying breath. It came out exasperated, and Tony felt himself going on the defensive, which he hated, because deep down, he rather liked Steve.

And respected him.

And had once upon a time thought they would be buddies, and even though they were, sort of, it had never really gotten to that level that Tony's younger, more innocent self had dreamt of.

His adult self, on more than one occasion, had dreamt of something more than a buddy-buddy relationship between the two of them, in the secrecy of his own mind. It was healthy to fantasize, and it was even healthier to have a sex life with one's own hand – and an assembly of appropriate toys – instead of getting creepy around the source of said fantasies, but Tony still disliked how Steve so blatantly ignored him whenever Tony actually tried to get along with him.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Steve snapped finally.

"Sorry," Tony murmured.

"What if there's a situation?" Steve pressed on, clearly still zeroing in on their drunken teammate.

"I highly doubt that Bruce's lack of sobriety will affect the Hulk in any way," Tony responded.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're too drunk to walk straight. What if you're needed?"

Tony stared at him, blinked, then tried to cock an eyebrow, draw his hand across his face and groan at the same time. The three movements, in his current state, became a rather disastrous mix which left Steve frowning at him even harder, and Tony felt like punching him in the face. "You think I can't suit up if I'm drunk? Shall we test that theory? Besides, there hasn't been a single disaster in weeks! I can't live my life by hanging onto the idea that the world's going to fall apart at my next breath. Maybe you should try that, too, for a change."

"It's irresponsible," Steve informed him.

"It's productive!" Tony argued vehemently. "Bruce needs a distraction, to loosen up. We're achieving that."

Steve didn't look convinced. "This isn't helping him. _You_ are not helping him."

A response almost burned off the tip of Tony's tongue, but he swallowed it. "He's a grown up. He can make his own decisions. If he wants to get drunk with me, I'm not going to push him away."

Steve could hardly argue with that, and it wasn't as if the Avengers were on call constantly, either.

Unlike Iron Man.

But as Tony had stated, being drunk didn't stop him from getting the job done in a suit.

"Come have a drink with us," Tony finally asked, softer, more genuine. Personal. It was his twisted version of the 'please be my friend' –speech.

Steve nodded tensely and left the office, heading back to the living room; he hadn't really heard Tony, only the words, but Tony guessed that was good enough. Steve would sit with them, doubtlessly to keep an eye on Bruce, and Tony could pretend there was more to it than that.

* * *

As fate would have it, a call came in the early morning hours, when the party wasn't going nearly as strong but Tony and Bruce were still plastered to furniture in fits of giggles as they threw physics riddles between them, each more ridiculous than the last. Thor and Steve had stopped trying to comprehend the inside jokes hours ago, until J.A.R.V.I.S. informed them there was a disturbance in the subway.

"Alligators?" Tony guessed.

Bruce scoffed, head shifting where it was resting on Tony's stomach as they lay sprawled on the same couch for a change.

_"No, sir. I believe the term 'hyper-inflated pufferfish' was mentioned, although I cannot see how a fish could be causing a mass-evacuation of the subway system."_

"Huh," Tony mused, then giggled uncontrollably.

"Let's go," Steve said from the side and stood up. Thor followed, and then Bruce rolled off the couch, onto all fours before standing up and straightening his clothing.

"You coming?" the scientist asked, looking down at Tony.

"Sure," Tony smiled. "Let's go fishing."

Tony was fully aware that Steve was giving him dirty looks when they gathered at the landing pad. Thor was grasping Mjolnir, Steve had found an extra outfit of his uniform somewhere – or had brought it with him, because he had the shield, too, and Tony sure didn't have a spare one of those lying around. Bruce was still dressed as he had been before, tugging at the waistband of his pants as if trying to calculate how long they would be staying on his body if he had to transform into the Hulk.

In the suit, Tony's gait was as graceful as always, and he grasped Bruce around the waist, deciding that Thor could take Steve. Bruce started, then turned and placed his arms around Tony's shoulders, clearly trying to anticipate where to place his hands and not get burned by the repulsors. "Ready?" Tony asked him.

"Are you sure we cannot wait for a Quinjet from S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Bruce asked back.

"The flight will help you sober up," Tony offered cheerfully and then took off, not too fast but knowing that if the Avengers were called in, the situation warranted some haste. Thor and Steve followed, and the sunrise painted Thor's armor and Steve's shield with a bright glow that hurt Tony's eyes until J.A.R.V.I.S. adjusted the screen in front of his face.

'Hyper-inflated pufferfish' wasn't too far from the truth when they finally got to one of the stations that had already been evacuated. There was water everywhere, leaving them knee-high in it, and there were some kind of fish-men hybrids that would have been rolling faster than walking. They also shot poisonous spikes from their bodies, which wasn't funny at all after Thor got one stuck in his shoulder, the spike sinking several inches into skin and muscle.

Tony proceeded to electrocute them, but clearly they were more resistant to it than his teammates – or rather, the Hulk, who happened to be standing nearby, and got electrocuted as well because he hadn't listened to Tony's 'all clear!' command. That was why the rage monster proceeded to punch him through the nearest wall.

It took Tony several minutes to recover from the blow, then try not to drown in his suit which had been breached somewhere and was letting in water – not to mention half a dozen pufferfish-men who were trying to sumo wrestle him and not making the not-drowning any easier.

By the time Tony managed to get his feet under him and punch and blast his way through the huge, round, spike-covered bodies, his suit was spitting sparks, he tasted blood, there was a Hulk-fist shaped dent in his side and he was fairly certain the spikes were poisonous and he may have stabbed himself with a few.

"Iron Man!" Thor's voice called. "Are you able to carry on?"

Since his comm wasn't working anymore, apparently, Tony just groaned and waded through the water towards the sound. The emergency power was on in the subway tunnel, but half the lamps were destroyed, leaving them in semi-darkness which reminded him uncomfortably of space.

He found Thor smacking the fish-men further away while holding Captain America up with his free arm. A quick scan of his half-functioning HUD informed Tony that their leader was suffering from severe anaphylactic shock. While the super-soldier serum probably immunized Steve against anything and everything, being repeatedly stabbed by poisonous spikes would affect anyone.

"Get him out of here," Thor ordered, shoving Steve's sagging form towards Tony, and all Tony could do was brace himself, trust the armor to hold him upright and drag them both in the direction of the nearest station. Steve's breaths were labored, his grip on Tony's shoulder painfully tight, but at least he was conscious and holding on.

They must have gotten turned around at some junction; Tony's HUD continued to flicker in and out and while there eventually was less water at their feet, the station wasn't coming up fast enough. "Goddamn it," Tony muttered and kept walking, because he couldn't just turn around and go back; they would come to a station sooner or later, or he would blast his way out of here. Not that he was certain how deep they currently were, or what was above them, but he liked to think it was an option anyway.

It felt like hours before they reached a station. Tony was dragging Steve along – would have carried him if his armor was fully functional – and a murmur of voices greeted their arrival from the tunnel. Clearly this station was still being evacuated, confused people milling around, looking annoyed and making angry gestures. Tony didn't give two shits about how the current battle was affecting their lives, and instead hoisted Steve's rigid form to the platform and then pulled himself up with some difficulty.

No one approached them, but a dozen cell phones were raised to snap pictures and get video.

"Could someone please call an ambulance?" Tony asked, because his comm was still down.

"No reception, pal," someone shouted.

"They told us to evacuate."

"What's going on? Is the train coming soon?"

Tony felt like rolling his eyes, if only his head didn't feel like it was splitting in two. Maybe it was the drinking, or the poison he might have been exposed to. Maybe the Hulk had actually broken bones and he just didn't know it yet. Either way, he needed to get Steve to an ambulance and then to a hospital; the man was hanging on, but his breathing sounded horrible and if his body hadn't dealt with the poison by now, then it was bad. There was blood smeared on his blue uniform; in the light of the platform, Tony could finally see several holes from the spikes that pierced his uniform, and some of the wounds were still bleeding.

Which meant Steve wasn't healing.

Which meant something was wrong and Tony didn't have time to catch his breath.

He forced himself up to his feet and then dragged Steve up. People moved aside, still filming, muttering angry words at how the Avengers had yet again messed something up, and how inconvenient it was.

Clearly these people hadn't seen what happened at one of the other subway stations, were people got skewered by spikes and cried and screamed for help until the police contained the situation and Cap led the Avengers down to the flooded tunnels to deal with the situation.

Tony stumbled up the endless steps until he found the first police officers chatting up the subway security. "Hey!" he called out. "A little help here? Man down?"

Having Steve's weight removed didn't actually make him feel any lighter on his feet, but at least things were finally moving forward.

When they finally got above ground and Tony caught a glimpse of the city, he could see smoke rising into the sky a few blocks down and imagined he heard the Hulk roar in annoyance. When a bolt of lightning flashed, he was certain the fight was still going on, but he trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. or someone to send reinforcements if Thor and the Hulk needed any.

Probably not, now that the more fragile members of their team were out of the way.

"Are you hurt, sir?" an EMT asked him as they loaded Steve onto a stretcher and tried to open his uniform at the chest, probably to help him breathe. "Mr. Stark?" the man prompted again as Tony just stared.

"There's a…" he started, then moved over, and even with armored hands he found the fastenings and helped part the top of Steve's uniform. "Let me get out of the suit and I'll join him at the hospital," Tony decided, and proceeded to threaten a young police officer with dismemberment if anything should happen to his suit while he was gone. He would have J.A.R.V.I.S. reboot it, or have someone from his own staff pick it up, or even S.H.I.E.L.D., but right now he felt like he needed to lie down as well and the EMTs seemed to agree.

* * *

By the time Bruce resurfaced and could comprehend actual sentences, the battle was over and half their team wasn't there.

"Banner?" Thor enquired softly. He had been talking, then probably realized Bruce didn't understand, and had waited a moment before going on again; clearly patience wasn't his strong suit even after all this time.

A somewhat blurry hour later Bruce had been given clothes that mostly fit him, S.H.I.E.L.D. had arrived to contain what was left of the pufferfish-creatures, and he and Thor had headed out to a hospital. They made it to the lobby before Bruce was made aware that they were there to see Steve and Tony.

They were given directions to Tony's room and Thor entered without knocking. People looked up; Tony was sitting on a bed, three nurses and a doctor surrounding him. Tony's brown eyes blinked at them and something like relief washed across his face. "My saviors arrive," he declared. "Well, technically, I'm here because of the big dude," he nodded at Bruce. "There better be a big bag of weed ready and waiting because my ribs hurt like a bitch."

"Mr. Stark," the doctor started.

"A joke," Tony snapped his eyes briefly at the man before returning them to Bruce, as if simply looking at him were a lifeline. "Self-medicating is very inappropriate. Also, I think I'm detoxing from… whatever those spikes had in them. Where's Cap?"

It was clear Tony was not comfortable, blabbing almost nervously. "Everything's okay," Bruce told him, although he wasn't sure whether that was a lie. Tony, however, sucked it up like a sponge and nodded, then told the hospital staff that he was fine, that Bruce was a doctor, and that they could go hover around someone who needed them more.

When the extra people left the room, Bruce got an eyeful of the heavy bruising on Tony's body. There were also a few wounds that had been patched up, no doubt from a tear in the suit or the spikes. His hair was sticking every which way and he still carried an air of someone who might currently be having a mild panic attack. Maybe the nurses and doctor hadn't picked up on that, or considered it a normal reaction in the aftermath of a fight. It wasn't as if there were any scientific studies to the stress syndromes of post-superhero activities.

"Thor," Bruce looked at the tall Asgardian, "could you go and find out where Steve is? I shall stay with Tony." Thor nodded and left, his cape hanging heavy and wet, but he still carried the weight of it effortlessly, although his gait was slower.

Bruce approached the bed Tony was still sitting on and looked at him. "Did the other guy…?" he started to ask, but wasn't sure what had happened, or if he should feel guilty about it – although he would, of course, feel horrible if the rage monster had attacked one of his teammates.

"I tried electrocuting the ugly fish-men. The Hulk got zapped while standing in the water. Clearly he didn't like it, so he punched me through a wall, where I almost drowned in my suit beneath a pile of sumo wrestlers," Tony replied, and while the last part didn't make that much sense to Bruce, he knew it was a deliberate hint to the answer of Tony's current uneasiness. They hadn't talked about Afghanistan at length, because Tony never talked about Afghanistan at length, but Bruce knew Tony had a special relationship with drowning. This was a belated reaction, clearly, now that he was running out of adrenaline.

"And Steve?" Bruce pressed, to divert Tony's attention from the obvious memory.

"Got spiked, repeatedly. Clearly the serum didn't keep up. He's… he wasn't doing so well." Tony twitched and slid off the bed, almost landing on Bruce's feet when the scientist didn't move back in time, but Tony kept hovering in Bruce's personal space even while trying to relocate his clothes, one hand clutching the side of Bruce's ill-fitting shirt.

"Thor will locate him, and we'll find out how he's doing," Bruce promised, voice even, because he might as well try to calm both of them at the same time. He still felt uneasy after the battle, although the other guy was no longer skirting the forefront of his thoughts. His body ached terribly and he wanted to sleep for a year, but Tony's hold on his shirt was desperate and he knew the other man needed him more, although subtly.

They found Tony's shirt, wet and torn at places, stained with blood and something that could be oil from the suit or some of the poison from the spikes – or something that simply leaked in from the subway while he was underwater. Tony pulled it on either way and followed a slightly unsteady path out of the room, and Bruce had never been so happy that Thor was easy to locate, because he wasn't sure how long he or Tony could spend walking around the hospital hallways.

"I have found the Captain," Thor announced when Bruce spotted him, standing a head taller than anyone else a few floors above where they had found Tony. "He is still being treated." A frown was deeply etched into the thunder god's features. "Your medicine men seemed worried and told me to wait for news."

So they waited, finding the person in charge of Steve's treatment and letting him know they were there, then settled down in a waiting room. There were a few other people there, giving them odd, hushed looks, but for once no one came forward to ask for an autograph or a photo. Tony remained jittery for another hour, then curled up on the small, hard couch, legs drawn up, and leaned towards Bruce.

Seeing as this might take a while, Bruce tried to embrace the chance to rest, but sleep was hard to come by save for a few minutes of dozing before coming back at the first sound, or a start from Tony, or a scrape from Steve's shield across the floor when Thor shifted; someone had handed the shield to them, for safekeeping, and the Asgardian had taken it upon himself to not let go of it until their leader could hold it once more.

People came and went. Some of them didn't return. A small TV droned on in the corner, the news flashing some images from the destruction to the subway tunnels. Bruce looked at it for two seconds and decided they would see it all and more in the next debrief at S.H.I.E.L.D., so he didn't bother to turn up the volume or focus on the version of events that was offered to the general public.

Thor kept shifting in his seat, a chair that had to be uncomfortable for someone his size, still wearing the battle armor. Tony kept trying to wrap his arms tighter around himself, to pull his legs up, and at some point he started shivering, so Bruce got up long enough to fetch a blanket from one of the nurses. He knew it would have been better if they went back to the Tower, but he wasn't entirely certain Tony had been formally released yet. Maybe they should ask someone about that.

"Try to get some sleep," he urged Tony instead, knowing how much he disliked being here. The whole confession about doing up his own stitches… Bruce looked down at his hand, noting that the stitches had disappeared along with the wounds. At least the other guy was good for something…

"Can't," Tony murmured.

"Just try," Bruce urged him, knowing that Tony was worn out.

"Will you help me count the sheep?" Tony asked, rolling towards him as Bruce sat down, head settling on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure it works like that."

"Do you think they counted sheep in the forties?" That question was no doubt a reference to his concern for Steve. It was sort of adorable, and sad, because Bruce was fairly certain it was something Steve would never learn about – mostly because Tony seemed determined to not let the other man know the truth in a manner that wasn't overly complicated. How many future arguments could be avoided if Tony simply admitted he was a Captain America fanboy and not his antagonist, which seemed to be Tony's only alternative to spilling his guts on the matter.

"I'm pretty sure they did," Bruce mused, returning back to the topic of sheep and sleep.

Tony seemed content with his answer for a moment, and Bruce even dared to hope he may have fallen asleep, but soon enough Tony jerked, sat up, breathed heavily and unevenly for a moment, letting air out through his mouth, and Bruce debated fetching a paper bag for him to hold if not use.

"What are these… sheep you are so keen on counting?" Thor asked. "Are they an important possession?"

"You haven't seen sheep yet?" Tony asked, attacking the subject so fast it had to be a way to distract himself. "We'll have to take you to the country when this is over. I'm sure Steve would like that. He must have had a dozen allergies before the serum."

Bruce tried to envision the team trekking across mud and manure, but he didn't shoot down Tony's monologue of all the things Steve had or hadn't done, and which Thor probably hadn't done either, because it helped them to kill time and not dwell on how long it was taking them to deliver good news about Steve's condition.

* * *

Steve was fairly certain something was off. Everything was too quiet. The world was… never _that_ quiet.

He looked around his apartment, the stillness of it unnerving. Not even the clocks were ticking, and he took a step just to make sure he could still move.

He could.

Slowly Steve walked across the stretch of room, and then back. He looked around, frowning, feeling heavy and uneasy. As if he needed to leave, to be somewhere, but he couldn't recall where.

On the table laid a laptop computer and nothing else. All the surfaces were clean, not that he usually cluttered them with things.

His frown increased and he moved over to the table and caressed the touchpad of the laptop. The screen flickered to life, and he jumped slightly at his own face greeting him, with a fake smile plastered all over it. The image was cut at the chest, but he could tell he was wearing that dreaded costume he had used when touring with the USO show.

"Hey, buddy!" his face told him from the screen, with that same, practiced cheer that had only been genuine for about five seconds, the fact always gnawing away at his mind that he was wasting his time and Erskine's gift to mankind. "The best and bravest need your help," his voice kept talking, teeth catching the light like one of those ridiculous toothpaste commercials. "Volunteer now and become part of something greater. If you can't, that's just too bad, and we'll see you on the other side." The man on the screen saluted him and the image flickered out.

Steve blinked in confusion. "What the hell?" he muttered, but said it out loud to make sure he could still speak.

Nothing else happened for a bit, so he poked at the touchpad again. Nothing happened then, either, so he pressed the 'enter' key, and started when the screen came back to life. This time it wasn't his face that greeted him, but a series of images that kept slowly appearing and reappearing: bombed streets, soldiers he had fought with, the Howling Commandos, Bucky. As the images went on, they grew darker and bloodier; torn bodies, agonized faces, Bucky's knuckles white as he grasped onto the handle a second before falling to his death. The images moved faster, each more horrible than the last, and Steve hit the keyboard in order to make it stop, but nothing happened. He finally located the 'Esc' key in the top corner and pressed it – and the images vanished.

Instead, a woman with golden hair and a proud, beautiful face stared at him, sitting in a blank room and looking at a camera, or whatever was recording it. He knew she was familiar, so familiar that he had met her more than once, in person. "Hello, Captain," she greeted, and he knew that voice. Private Lorraine – the woman who had almost caused him to fall out with Peggy Carter after… well, kissing Steve rather unexpectedly. "Fully adjusted to your new life?" she went on, cocking her head and brow, challenging him. "From all of us here in the past… I think it's time you came back."

"Came back?" Steve asked.

"Time's up, Cap," she said, face darker, almost as if she were mad at him. "Time to join the rest of us, here on the other side. Your end is here."

Steve recoiled from the computer, but her eyes kept following him.

"You can't run away!" she shouted. "You may have cheated death once, but you won't do so again."

Much as he had debated with himself on the subject, Steve was fairly certain he wasn't ready to die. Not yet. He looked to the side, but didn't see cables to pull out. In desperation, he lifted the laptop from the desk and threw it across the room.

Private Lorraine's laughter was cut off as the machine fell to the floor in pieces after smashing into the far wall.

"… and then there's this whole thing about unpasteurized milk; I'm pretty certain that's all they have in Asgard, which could actually explain some things. We'll have to study that when we take you up to that farm. They keep yammering about its health benefits, although I remain skeptical. Pepper keeps saying I might be mildly lactose intolerant and – holy shit!" There was a crash as Tony jumped up from his chair and simultaneously tangled his leg around one of the chair legs, sending himself down into a half-crawl on the floor and the chair on its side next to him. "Don't do that!" the other man yelled.

"Do what?" Steve croaked, then cleared his throat. His mind felt clearer than it had been… well, whatever the hell he had just seen before coming to.

"Open your eyes," Tony breathed out and straightened himself. He winced, pressing his right arm against his left side, and straightened the chair, then plopped back down onto it.

"Sorry," Steve replied half-heartedly.

"That's okay; we've only been waiting for you to open your eyes for about 24 hours now. A little over-due, don't you think?" Tony cocked an eyebrow at him, and Steve tried to decipher why Tony was here. Where were they?

A quick look around showed Steve the unmistakable interior of a hospital room, and he spent the next couple of seconds debating his reason for being in one while Tony caught his breath to speak again. "Now that you're awake, we can finally leave. About time. They keep taking my blood. Fucking Draculas. I bet they don't really need it; it's a conspiracy," Tony lowered his voice a bit. "I think we should put this place under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s watch, just in case they're conducting some inhuman experiments in the basement."

Tony went on rambling, but for once it sounded like he wasn't doing it just because he enjoyed the sound of his own voice; Steve didn't pay attention to the words, but he tethered himself to the fact that Tony was there, alive and breathing – both of them alive and breathing – and that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

"That goat is giving me the evil eye," Tony declared.

Thor did not understand the term, but it felt like the Man of Iron considered the horned animal his enemy. The two of them were staring at each other through the wire fence. Tony looked out of his element, even though he was not wearing a suit and tie. It was as if he had been thrown into a setting that he could not adapt to, and was at constant war with himself to not show it.

"He'll eat your sunglasses if you lean any closer," Bruce laughed and moved on.

Steve was off on the side, feeding apples to a brown horse. He was of a healthy color once more, fully healed from their spat with the strange fish-people in the underground tunnels. He had given the three Avengers a good scare, but the Captain was not that easily taken out, which he had proven once again.

And once he was released from the hospital, they drove out here, to the midst of nature. Thor liked the place, although it was alien to him as well, with all its animals and smells.

"Do you own a farm, Tony?" Steve asked, fishing another apple from his pocket.

"No," Tony replied sharply. "Why?"

"I hear rich people own farms these days – especially the kind who don't know a thing about animals."

"What gives you the impression that I don't know a thing about animals?" Tony was at once on his feet, ready to face the challenge, and Steve grinned, good-naturedly. Sometimes, it seemed Steve knew exactly what to say to engage his teammate in a battle of words. "I could be a horse-whisperer for all you know," Tony went on.

"You do know the animals can tell, right?" Steve mused, leaning his cheek against the muzzle of the horse he had been feeding.

"I'm still saying you were allergic to anything with a hair attached to them…" Tony muttered.

Steve looked at him – and then down, rather pointedly. Tony's eyes followed, and Thor's did as well. A baby goat was by Tony's feet, munching on his shoelaces.

"Hey!" Tony snapped, moving his foot, but the small animal followed, tugging on its catch and chewing slowly. Tony looked conflicted, his fingers opening and closing.

Bruce finally rescued him, walking over decisively and picking up the small, cute animal, forcing the shoelace from its mouth before carrying it over to the fence with the other goat and lowering the wayward baby back inside the enclosure. "Let's hope _'Black Sheep'_ never happens in real life," he commented.

Thor guessed this was some imaginary tale the humans shared with one another, and perhaps included black sheep which may also be dangerous.

Tony narrowed his eyes at the two goats, as if telling them that he would be ready next time. "I'm watching you," he added, pointing his finger at the baby goat.

"Come on," Bruce said softly, looping one arm around Tony's waist and pulled him away. Steve gave the horse one final pat and joined them, leaving Thor to trail behind. "So, I was thinking about tonight's dinner," Bruce went on, and the subject of food was always within Thor's interests.

"Goat?" Tony suggested.

"That's immature, even for you," Bruce chastised him.

"As long as it isn't fish, I don't care," Steve noted.

"Seconded," Tony agreed. Bruce's arm was still around him, and neither man seemed to mind or notice.

"We should celebrate our victory," Thor offered.

"I can get behind that," Tony chimed in at once.

"No alcohol," Bruce argued. "I just… can't. And you can't either," he added at Tony. "How about we get some old-fashioned American food from that family-run place on the drive back to the city, watch a stupid comedy with no sewer monsters, and have a good night's sleep?"

"Not even a night cap?" Tony pouted a little, widening his eyes, making them tear up just a little. "To celebrate that we're all still here, alive, to fight another battle. You can't say no to that. And neither can you!" he added, pointing at Steve.

"We'll grab a case of all-American beer on the way home," Steve acquiesced.

"To America," Tony toasted the air with an imaginary drink in hand. "To the Avengers!"

"To the Avengers," Thor, Steve and Bruce echoed, with matching smiles on their faces.

**The End**


End file.
